Newsies in Modern High School (Season Two)
by KatyRose4
Summary: It's a new year. In a modern alternate universe, Jack and some of his friends tackle on college, while the others are stuck in their final year of high school, or middle school.
1. First Day of School

It was a beautiful Thursday morning in the streets of New York. It was the first day of school. Typically, that would cause thousands of students all over the city to groan, pleading for more days of summer vacation. But not for Snipeshooter. Surprisingly, for once, he was excited. It was his first year of sixth grade, and, the first day of middle school. It would be a fresh start, in a whole new place. Not to mention, he felt like he was more of an adult.

Mostly though, he was glad that he got to be in the same building as his friend Boots. Which was useful, because, he didn't have to be embarrassed by his mother taking him to school. He had a much cooler eighth grader as his escort.

Luckily Boots was on time that day. The intercom rang right at eight o'clock. He usually wasn't that reliable about being punctual, but he was smart enough to know what you can and can't get around. Unfortunately, as always, Snipeshooter wasn't ready yet. He was scrambling to scarf down his cheerios. His mother shook her head. "You need to learn to take care of yourself Danny." She passed him his lunchbox and backpack (annoyed, he didn't prepare it himself.) But she still possessed the typical motherly love, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Aw, Mom." He hated being treated like a kid.

"Have a good day, okay." She buzzed Boots upstairs, and unlocked the door so he could let himself in. He was there in less than a minute.

"Hello Mrs. Thompson!" She had reminded him her first name three times, but he could never manage to remember it.

"Hi Artie. Excited for your first day?"

"Um…No." In all fairness, most kids weren't. Even Snipeshooter would have appreciated a few days off. Then again, there was an extra long weekend to look forward to. "Snipeshooter, are you ready?"

He gulped down the last of his breakfast. "Yep!" He slung his bag over one shoulder, and started to head out.

"Wait, your lunchbox!" His mother called out. Snipeshooter turned around, and she tossed it to him.

"Thanks!"

"And are you sure you don't want me to walk with you?"

"Yes I'm sure."

"And I'm sorry I couldn't make you pancakes, I'll do it,"

"Mom, shut up." She wasn't too mad at that. She knew he didn't mean to be rude.

"Okay. Bye, love you!"

"Love you." And he was gone. Her little baby was growing up.

Once they were outside, and free of anyone that knew him (besides Boots, who could be trusted), Snipeshooter took the time to ask some questions. "So are the people here nice?"

"…Mostly."

"The students, or the teachers?"

"Um, both."

"Are the classes hard?"

"Depends on where they place you."

"Is it good? In general?"

"Um, I guess. You have to be more specific than that."

"Is the food good?"

"The food is the same all over the city. And why does that matter? You're mom packs you lunch."

Snipeshooter shrugged and laughed. "Don't know."

They stopped in front of the building. It had been a pretty short walk to get there, faster than Snipeshooter had expected. Boots looked behind him and pointed. "See that corner back there?" Snipeshooter nodded. "Meet me there right after you get out, okay."

"Okay."

"You got that?"

"Yes!" He was facing too many annoying people for one day.

"Just making sure." He wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened to Snipeshooter. And Mom would be mad- both Boots', and Snipeshooter's.

Finally, they headed inside the school.

* * *

Although Boots wasn't that excited, there was some appeal to being an upperclassman. He was curious to see if things would be better (or worse.) From what he heard, there wasn't that big of a difference, until the very end, when one realizes that their time there is over, but that wouldn't be a much of a problem, since, like a lot of people, he wanted to leave as fast as possible. And there was also slightly more homework.

But, being in eighth grade did mean that he finally had the opportunity to go to the lab. The other grades had to settle for doing experiments at their desks, and using the out of place teacher's sink as needed. Boots got nice, fancy stools, and bright fluorescent lights, and white tables that seemed clean, even though the room smelled gross.

The teacher opened with, "I'm sure you're all wondering why you're here on your first day." Everyone nodded. No one ever did a lab so early in the year. "Well I think that science needs to be taught actively, we have a double period, this place was open, and I thought we'd start the year off right. I don't care for icebreakers," the nuisance that takes up most of precious first-day-of-school time. "So, let's get started." He took out the attendance sheet. "I'll give you your lab groups for your first project. You will sit with them in the normal classroom as well." Which people were kind of annoyed about. They had always dreamed of a class without assigned seating, and there were rumors that a few teachers did that. "And then we'll go over some safety rules." He looked down at his list. "Artie, Ryan, George, and Michael, you're one group." Strange, Artie just happened to be put into the group with all of the cool kids. "You'll sit at Table One."

Once everyone was settled, the teacher began writing the safety information on the board. His words and fingers seemed purposely slow. And everyone thought that going to the lab would be fun. George groaned. "Can this be _any_ more boring?"

"I would rather be outside," Artie grumbled under his breath.

"Doing what?"

Artie shrugged. "Soccer, I guess." He would occasionally hold games with his friends.

"You like soccer huh?" Michael piped up.

Boots said, "Yeah." He couldn't believe he was having an actual conservation with people as popular as them.

"That's cool. I like to play too."

The four had all of their classes together, and right as they left for lunch, George invited Boots to sit with them in the cafeteria.

* * *

At the end of the day, Snipeshooter waited for Boots at the designated spot. But he wasn't there. Snipeshooter wasn't concerned, but he was anxious. He just wanted to get home already. The all-day marathons of TV and video games had not prepared him for six hours of school. And he didn't feel like standing outside alone for too long, it made him feel self-conscious.

Finally, like a knight in shining armor, Boots appeared out of the crowd of students coming out. "Where were you?" Snipeshooter asked.

"I was just talking with some friends. I was actually going to play in the courtyard with them, if that's cool. You can go home on your own, right?"

"Well, yeah, but I'm not supposed to."

"Then come with me."

"But I don't want to."

"Well…Uh…" He didn't want to hurt Snipeshooter, but at the same time, for once in his life, he finally had the chance to be popular and cool. And it wasn't like the movies where the hero or heroine doesn't like it, it actually seemed like a good idea. It was a game of soccer.

"Fine. I'll go with you."

"Thanks so much Snipeshooter. I owe you."

"Forget it." They headed towards the recess yard.

"I bet you could play with us."

"Really?" His eyes perked up. He didn't understand the social hierarchy yet, but hanging out with any older kids was great. That's one reason why he spent so much time with Boots. (But mostly because he was nice and friendly.)

They made it out onto the field (or rather, the tennis court without a net), where George and the others were waiting. "Hey, Snipeshooter here is going to play with us, is that cool?"

"Um…" Ryan didn't seem to be too happy about that. He said something to George and Michael, but Boots couldn't tell what they were saying. He didn't like that they were whispering, but he wasn't going to argue against it. That's not what you're supposed to do.

"He's a little small, isn't he?" Michael said.

George added on. "Besides, three on two, that doesn't seem fair." It was a valid point, but Boots knew the real reason they wouldn't let Snipeshooter in the game. He was just a kid. They didn't know him too well, and it was fair to say no because of that, but they couldn't even say what they really felt.

Boots wanted so badly to play with them. To be with the "in" crowd, because he never got that. He was always the loner, and he got to hang out with his older brother's friends sometimes, but it wasn't the same. He wanted to be with people his own age. To not have to feel lonely at lunch or jealous when he saw those groups of friends hanging out in class. As much as he told himself it was fine, he really did want that life. And he knew that, if he walked away, he would never get a second chance.

Still, he couldn't leave Snipeshooter. He knew that he shouldn't, but it was so tempting. He imagined telling the boy to just walk home on his own, and having a nice game of soccer. But then he thought about it some more. The way he looked up to George and Michael and Ryan, was the same way Snipeshooter looked up to him. And he couldn't let him down like that. And besides, Snipeshooter was his best friend. There was no question about it. "Then I guess you'll have to find someone else to play."

George nodded. "Okay then."

Boots and Snipeshooter headed off. "So did you enjoy your first day of middle school?" Boots asked.

"Yeah, I did. You know, we can just play our own game of soccer later." Snipeshooter understood what Boots did. And if Boots was willing to help him out, he would do the same.

It turned out that his life really was like a movie. It was even complete with a cheesy ending.

 **Author's Note: School in New York did actually start today (a Thursday), ha. I apologize if this has any mistakes, or if it's too cheesy. Thanks for reading! :)**


	2. Christmas Texts

**Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies.**

 _Hi Skittery. Just thought I'd wish you a Merry Christmas. I know that you've never been a big fan of the holiday season, but I figured that I had nothing to lose with a quick text. It's been a while I know, six or seven months I think. But if there's any time for old friends to chat, it's now. Man, this text is really long…Say hi to your mom for me._

"No, I can't send that." Julie shook her head, put her phone face down on the bed, and rubbed her eyes. It was late, she was tired, and she had tried to go to bed, but the same problem had been bugging her all day. She kept telling herself that if she wanted to get back in touch with Skittery, the holidays were the day to do it and she had already missed Thanksgiving. Christmas Eve morning, she told herself that she had two days to send a text. She had been putting off, too scared and anxious, feeling she would be ready later. She wasn't. And regretted it. Though in all fairness, there was no better time to do it.

Of course, deciding to text earlier would've given her more time to plan it out and she knew it. She berated herself for being stupid, but also remembered that there was a task to be done. She thought that maybe it was too late to send a text anyway. But she reminded herself that she was in Ireland, he in New York, and would have no concept of time difference anyway. No excuses. She huffed, picked her phone back up, and hovered over the send button.

She couldn't send anything to him. She was the one that had broken it off, and the lack of communication was her fault entirely. She had no right to try for it again, at least in her mind. She couldn't imagine Skittery's reaction. He would hate her, surely. She knew she didn't deserve his friendship, and that meant that he would think the same.

"Nope," she declared, before deleting her draft.

 _Hey Julie. Merry Christmas. I know it's weird sending you a message after so long, but I miss talking to you, and well, it's Christmas. I don't know what you're doing across the pond. No way it's better than here. Than again, New York isn't that good of a place…Anyways, Merry Christmas, cause on December 25_ _th_ _, you can't possibly say it too much._

The first word to come into Skittery's head after writing the text was 'pathetic.' He had missed Julie, a lot, since rejecting her at prom. (He had no regrets about that, but never seeing her since had certainly made him question his actions.) But he would not say anything about it. Strong people don't need others. And he still had friends, so that one girl didn't have to matter. But she did. Whether he would like to admit it or not.

Still, she clearly didn't want to talk to him. She would've said so if that were the case. She had turned him away for a reason, and although he didn't entirely understand it, understanding it made no difference. They were separated, and that was that. Skittery decided that he should stop being a wimp and send the message. He shortened it to,

 _Hey Julie, merry Christmas. I don't know what you're doing across the pond. No way it's better than here. Then again, New York isn't that good of a place either…_

And sent it on a whim. It was weird perhaps, but no turning back now, and he avoided re-reading it so he wouldn't regret it.

Julie was asleep in her bed, when she heard her phone buzz. She didn't know who would text her so late, but her heart jumped a little when she saw who it was from. It was Skittery. He did want to talk to her, even just a little. She typed,

 _I'm pretty sure 'across the pond' refers to England, but whatever. Merry Christmas to you too. :)_

Before putting her phone away, and debating between sending it or not. She decided that it was a problem for the morning to face, and rolled over to fall asleep again. (Though it was hard.) The next morning she just deleted her text draft. Communication was best saved for the holidays.


	3. High School Horror Story

**Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies.**

 **Author's Note: Fun facts: Macy is the girl that appears when the newsies first start selling for the day. Also, this is based on a conversation I had with my boyfriend, gym class, and my real life hatred of science goggles.**

It was Friday second period. And that meant that Bumlets (along with the rest of the senior class) had chemistry lab. At any normal school, chemistry lab would be very interesting. You get to play with fire, desalinate water, make fudge. But at Manhattan Technical High School, with Mr. Sleeter as their teacher, it was going to get super boring. They called him "Mr. Sleeper" for falling asleep in class, but also because he had the power to bore everyone to sleep. He was also rather annoying, because even when an experiment wasn't particularly dangerous, he would say "Goggles on." And Bumlets hated it. He hated science goggles more than anything.

Macy and Jake were doing all of their flirty couple stuff and he wasn't a big fan of that either. It was weird for Bumlets to watch. And, though he wouldn't ever admit it, he was jealous that he didn't have a girlfriend yet. They weren't making out or anything (Mr. Sleeter would've caught them for that) but they had their arms around each other and were all giggly. Normally Bumlets tuned them out, but something they said made him perk up. Macy asked, "If I were in a horror movie, would you protect me?"

"Of course! I love you!" The couple always abused that word. Still, they brought up an interesting topic of conversation. What _would_ the gang do in a horror movie...?

"If I were in a horror movie," Bumlets muttered, "The first thing I'd do is take off these stupid goggles." He hadn't meant to be so loud, but the rest of the table heard him.

"Because you're not dying in science goggles?" Snitch asked. Always the jokester.

"No. I don't care how I look when I die. I just hate them because they hurt and create a blind spot. And they're cloudy so I can't see too well when I wear them. I can't go more than...thirty minutes in them. I like my eyesight." The goggles weren't that foggy, but that, combined with the tightness of the strap, was enough to cause really annoying headaches. And if the strap wasn't too tight, then it would be too loose and fall off his head. They created ugly markings on his face and he hated having to leave the room just to rub his eyes. Goggles were a no-win situation and he wanted nothing to do with them. He was going to explain all of this, but he didn't think people would appreciate his strange lament.

"Honestly, they're not _that_ bad," Itey rolled his eyes. Melodramatics was best saved for Skittery. Who sadly wasn't there anymore...

Pie-Eater said, "If you _do_ die wearing them, maybe they'll think you're a scientist!"

"Nah, they'll say I'm too young."

"Boys, it's time for you to get to work," Mr. Sleeter reminded them. He was definitely being calm about it (mostly because he didn't have the energy to yell) but no one could take him seriously. It was just so stupid. No one wanted to work and any attempt to control them was futile. And instead of mixing or playing with the chemicals, they were just measuring things and doing equations on them. It was super boring. The minutes couldn't pass soon enough and Bumlets' eyes were getting heavy. He kept checking the clock but it didn't offer him any comfort. There was still forty minutes left. He began to yawn, then put his head down for a few seconds at a time.

When he opened his eyes again, he was very confused. No one was there- except for Mr. Sleeter. The odd part was, that he actually had emotion. He looked mad. No one had ever seen Mr. Sleeter like that. Annoyed perhaps, but never _mad._ That was scary. The lab suddenly looked a lot darker. It was a more comfortable change from the overly-bright fluorescent bulbs they usually had, but it was also ominous. Bumlets gulped. All alone? A scary man with a motive to hurt him inside the room? Dark lights? It was a horror movie!

As promised, he took off his goggles and ran. Ran faster than he ever thought possible. Mr. Sleeter was at the back of the room and Bumlets was at a table that happened to be close to a door. That gave him a good head start. The adrenaline was coursing through his veins and his life was on the line. Nothing was going to slow him down. But then he had to decide what to do next. There was nothing to barricade the door, and even if he could, he had the feeling that Mr. Sleeter would somehow push through it. His other option was to run. But run to where?

Bumlets knew that he couldn't fight Mr. Sleeter. Bumlets may have been stronger than him, but he was also smaller. And he didn't want to underestimate Sleeter's physical capabilities. So he decided to find a weapon. "Think, think," Bumlets said to himself. "What can cause injuries?" And suddenly, it all came to him like a montage: all of the times he had been hit in gym class. Whether it was a soccer game, handball, there was always some damage. Especially with enough force. Furthermore, the gym was close to the front entrance of the school. He would get the chance to leave the building and find some help, and, assuming security guards hadn't left, they would be there too.

On his way to the stairs, he grabbed the fire extinguisher and hit Sleeter on the head. Bumlets had hit his head on it a few times himself, and it was nice to see someone else- a teacher he hated no less!- get the same treatment. He even had a little laugh as he threw the extinguisher to the ground and continued running. Jack had taught him a trick to get down stairs faster. Rather than just try to go down them super fast, or even skip some of the steps, after a certain point, one could jump over the railing to the next landing. It was a risky move, but it somehow worked. His feet were hurting and he was pretty sure he twisted his ankle, but he made it!

Unfortunately, the security guards weren't there. Also, Sleeter had caught up. How? Bumlets didn't know. All he knew was that he was too far away from the entrance, meaning that he had to go to the gym. Balls were spread everywhere, waiting just for him. And they were freshly pumped too. A bag of pillow pollo sticks were ready for grabbing, only a few feet away. He limped over to it and armed himself with the one that was falling apart the least, just as Sleeter burst through the door. He was as angry as the devil. It was as if a fire was burning in his eyes and out of his ears. In an upset voice he went, "Why do you run away from me!"

He sounded like a normal human being, so it wasn't demonic possession, but Sleeter had definitely gained some power. He pushed Bumlets all the way into the white board, which had a metal part for holding markers. It was sharp and hit Bumlets right in the center of his back. He cursed, and ran out of Sleeter's way. He was not going to get slammed again. Bumlets gave his best battle cry " _Yaaaaaaahhhhhh!_ " and charged forward. It was payback time. He jumped high, grabbed onto the ceiling fan, and as he came down, smashed Sleeter in the head (again), which knocked him to the ground. Bumlets used that opportunity to throw the soccer balls at him. Then he kicked him in the legs.

Sleeter went, "Hey, ow!"

"What?" Bumlets sat up. It had been all a dream. Mr. Sleeter had woken him up when he fell asleep, and Bumlets had kicked him. "Oh, sorry."

"That hurt! And please don't fall asleep in my class again. This is school time, not bedtime, thank you." And so ended Bumlets' high school horror story.


End file.
